


Masque

by Silbrith



Series: Six-Crossed Knot [10]
Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: Philippe chances upon Jack during a trip to England. Spring 1604.
Series: Six-Crossed Knot [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052225
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Hampton Court

**Sept-Tours, Auvergne, France. March 1604**

Philippe reviewed the letter then placed it in the top drawer of his desk. He stood up and strode over to the mullioned window in his study overlooking the courtyard. King Henri made a valid argument.

Despite the rough start to his reign, the French monarch had proven himself to be remarkably astute at diplomacy. He'd succeeded in brokering a truce with Spain six years ago. Now he believed the English king could likewise be persuaded to a cessation of hostilities. For his part, James showed a few preliminary signs of encouraging greater religious freedom. Henri was a Huguenot but he'd converted to Catholicism for the sake of peace. His tolerance was an excellent role model for the new English king.

This was the type of mission Matthew would excel at, but he was still in Amsterdam. It had been thirteen years since Diana and the future version of Matthew had returned to a world Philippe would never know. When they left, he vowed to do his utmost to make that future vision come true. That meant the Matthew of the seventeenth century could have absolutely no knowledge of what had occurred during the months the couple lived in England.

Not even Ysabeau knew that Philippe had declared Diana to be his blood-sworn daughter. Much as he longed to tell his mate, he couldn't risk it. Matthew had told him that Ysabeau was unaware of what happened when he and Diana visited the past. That information must remain a secret for hundreds of years.

So it was up to him to go to England. Philippe smiled to himself. Elizabeth had never appreciated the wisdom of his advice. James could prove to be more tractable. Robert Cecil, a man with whom Philippe had cordial relations, was exerting a beneficial influence on the new king. He'd make a useful intermediary.

Philippe left the office in search of Ysabeau. In the afternoon, she was likely taking advantage of the light in the solar.

That chamber was particularly handsome. It had been constructed some four hundred years ago above the great hall as the family's private retreat. Recently, Ysabeau had converted it into her combination workroom, music room, and private library. The mullioned windows faced south, overlooking the surrounding forest. Even on gloomy days, the oriel windows provided ample light.

Philippe found her doing needlework beside the massive carved stone fireplace. Ysabeau's hair glinted like spun gold in the rays of the afternoon sun.

He kissed her lightly on her cheek. "The Duke of Sully has asked for my assistance with the English king. He believes that with the application of a little judicious nudging, a treaty with Spain is achievable. That could, in turn, lead to less persecution of English Catholics."

Ysabeau secured her embroidery needle. "A request from Maximilian is difficult to ignore. France is prospering under his guidance. Do you plan to accept?"

"Yes. I heard from Cecil that the king will remain at Hampton Court Palace throughout the spring. The queen has ordered a series of masques and plays to be performed. If the king were in Whitehall, I'd be less inclined. I have no desire to put up with Hubbard's petty annoyances."

Although Philippe had brokered an agreement with Hubbard which absolved the de Clermonts from being subjected to the English _manjasang_ 's demands, the negotiations had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Hubbard had set himself up as the ruler of all creatures who lived within the domain he claimed in central London. It went against the Covenant for witches, daemons, and _manjasangs_ to intermingle, but Hubbard was dismissive of the restrictions.

Philippe had long considered that Hubbard posed a real danger. His hatred of the de Clermonts went against the natural order. Matthew's son Benjamin was Hubbard's sire, and even though the _manjasang_ had acted despicably, Hubbard had no right to hold the rest of the family responsible. Philippe had grudgingly allowed Hubbard to rule over central London, but in exchange he'd agreed to sire no children. The blood rage which flowed in Matthew was even worse in Benjamin. Hubbard showed no signs of it, so Philippe was permitting him to live, for now.

"Françoise arrived this morning," Ysabeau said, breaking into his thoughts. "She brought a letter from Matthew." She rose from her chair and retrieved the parchment from her writing desk. "He plans to return to Sept-Tours in May."

"That will give me additional incentive to hasten home, not that I'll need any."

"It's been years since he's visited. I'd hoped when he left England, we'd see him more often, but evidently Amsterdam is as remote as London."

As Philippe headed upstairs to select his traveling wardrobe, he paused on the stone staircase. He hadn't had a chance to ask Françoise about the children who lived with Diana and Matthew in London. Should he? He'd already spoken with Pierre who explained that the girl had died of the plague several years ago. The outbreak of 1603 was particularly severe. By now, the boy could be dead as well. Philippe's Dutch agents had made discreet inquiries in London. A sailor mentioned a boy with straw-colored hair who'd often asked him about the Roydons. Apparently, the child was a regular visitor to the docks, but the last report was several years old. The last visit Françoise had made to England was when she'd accompanied Philippe and Gallowglass to check on the condition of the Old Lodge. Four years had passed since then. Philippe decided to let the matter drop.

**Three weeks later. Hampton Court Palace**.

"Have you seen Jack?" Leonard asked, grabbing onto Bryn's arm as she darted down the passageway. "The manager's called for a meeting with the musicians and I can't find him."

She shook her brunette curls. "I thought you were keeping an eye on him. You knew I was giving acting lessons to the ladies-in-waiting."

Up to now their time at Hampton Court had passed without a hitch. The previous night had been their encore performance of _The Vision of the Twelve Goddesses_. The queen had revived her role as Pallas Athena. The masque had attracted such fame that courtiers and ambassadors fought for the privilege of attending.

The work had first been performed in early January of that year. It served as Jack's reintroduction to the life he'd put on hold. He was still an infant by _wearh_ standards, but the playing company had been so insistent on having him back that Leonard relented. He was the only one of the company who knew the real reason Jack had taken a five-month absence. Everyone else thought he was recovering from the plague. And, in a sense, they were correct.

The January masque had been a triumph. The queen herself, as well as several of the ladies-in-waiting, took part. The costumes were so sumptuous, they were the talk of the courts in France and Italy, or so Bryn claimed. Jack had acquitted himself well. Leonard had held his breath when Jack was called upon to play solo viol during some of the most dramatic scenes. Perhaps it was the abject terror Jack had felt about messing up that kept anything dire from happening. Aside from the masque, the plays they'd performed only required the standard musical interludes.

When the court moved back to Whitehall, Jack accompanied the King's Men to London. They'd spent the past few months in performances. The plague had ended. Theaters were open once more. Jack and Leonard moved into Father H's bell tower at Christ's Church. Father H was as opposed to the theatre as ever, but even he appreciated that the work gave Jack a badly needed focus. When Jack wasn't playing music, he was busy with a painting project for the witches of the St. James Garlickhythe gathering.

During the night, Leonard took Jack hunting in the countryside. Jack still relied exclusively on animals for blood. Bryn and Father H had both expressed doubts about him being able to survive without any human blood, but so far he was managing. His speed wasn't as fast as Leonard's nor was he as strong, but Jack didn't seem to mind. After that terrible first month when Jack longed to die, he was now content.

Actually more than content. As was the case with all _wearh_ infants, Jack's passions were constantly at the boiling point. Leonard knew he'd been on borrowed time. He was surprised Jack's new fascination with women hadn't happened earlier, but the blood sickness could have been a factor.

He sympathized with Jack's urges. Leonard had been lucky. His sire had fathered Amen within a couple of months of Leonard's rebirth. The two had been able to satisfy their needs on each other with an abandon which left them bloodied and bruised. Although the broken bones were quickly mended, they gradually drifted apart. These days, Amen made sure he was never in the same playing company as Leonard and kept his time in London to the bare minimum.

"Have you checked with the ladies-in-waiting?" Bryn asked Leonard with a sly smile. "I heard several of them giggle about Jack. Many of them would like him to give them a private concert, and the bass viol isn't the only instrument they're thinking about."

Leonard groaned. "I knew this would be a problem. Jack was handsome before. Now it's a thousand times worse."

"Relax. He's too shy for it to be an issue," she said confidently then her expression changed. "Right? That is still the case?"

Leonard winced. "Not so much, and don't breathe a word about it to Father H. He has no tolerance for thrusting, as he calls it. He would have told Jack to don a hair shirt and lash himself till he bled."

Her eyes bulged. "You're exaggerating!"

"God's Truth, he's done it to others," Leonard said darkly. He counted himself extremely fortunate that his first fires had cooled before he met Father H. "When we returned to London in January, I asked Blanche for help."

Bryn rolled her eyes. "Did she make mincemeat out of Jack?"

"No, I think she felt sorry for him." Blanche was a sultry dark-haired beauty of a _wearh_ whose exploits with English nobles were legendary. "She's become quite fond of Jack. He has a puppy-eyed innocence compared to anyone she's been with in God knows how many decades. Once Jack painted her portrait, she embraced him with open arms."

"Along with everything else," Bryn muttered.

"Aye, that was the purpose, wasn't it? Jack learned how to conduct himself."

"Plus, he must have fallen in love with her."

Leonard sighed. "He would have fallen in love with anyone. Probably still would," he added, wincing at the rough knocks Jack had ahead. "The best part about Blanche is that there never was a possibility she'd reciprocate."

"I wish you'd told me earlier. He's ripe for the ladies-in-waiting to pluck. Lady Hannah Ashley, in particular. The way she was sighing over him during last night's performance of the masque was revolting."

Leonard restrained his snicker. "You'd just rather her sigh over you." He stopped to sniff. He hadn't smelled that scent in over a decade. Before he could react, the French _wearh_ Pierre shoved him into the alcove.

"Bryn, you stay here, too." Pierre's voice was a low-pitched growl. "What happened to Jack?"

Leonard hadn't seen Matthew's servant since the days of the Hart and Crown. Pierre looked furious, making Leonard's stomach drop to the floor. How was he going to explain everything that had gone on? Pierre's fellow servant Françoise had seen Jack when he was sixteen, but she wouldn't have told Pierre anything about the episode. There would have been no cause to, and plenty of excellent reasons to avoid the subject.

Bryn looked as scared as Leonard felt. "Is Matthew with you?" she asked.

"No, but _Sieur_ Philippe is. He's currently closeted with the king's councilors. Explain how the eight-year-old street urchin I once knew is now a _manjasang_."

"He caught the plague last year," Leonard said, keeping it as brief as he could. Philippe and Jack hadn't met. There might still be a way to wiggle free from the looming catastrophe. "Jack didn't deserve to die. You know how fond the Roydons were of him."

"Which one of you sired him?" Pierre demanded, not replying directly.

"Neither," Bryn said, jutting out her chin, "but I would have if I'd known how ill he was."

"We have no time for this now," Leonard pleaded. "Jack and I are due at rehearsal in a few minutes. _As You Like It_ is our last performance. We're scheduled to leave tomorrow. The count will never know."

Pierre considered for a moment. "I'm not familiar with the play. Does Jack have much of a part?"

"There are several songs," Leonard admitted. "The queen is very fond of music so the musical interludes are rather lengthy. But depending on where you sit, you may not even see us."

"And _Sieur_ Philippe doesn't know what Jack looks like." Pierre took a breath. "Very well. One night only, and then you must leave. This is for Jack's sake." His eyes locked on both of them in turn. "Do you understand?"

They nodded in unison. Leonard remembered all too well the discussions he'd had with Gallowglass and Françoise at the Old Lodge when Jack was recovering from a life-threatening injury. If Philippe had been aware of Jack's existence, he would have likely let him die to prevent any word about the Roydons from leaking out. Back then, Jack was a warmblood. Now that he was a _wearh_ and could potentially live till Diana's time, Philippe would view him as even more of a threat.

#

Lady Hannah wrapped her hands around Jack's neck and pulled him down for another kiss. "The queen won't need me till the evening," she murmured. "The play isn't slated to start for hours. I have a suggestion on how to amuse ourselves."

Jack savored the taste of honey on her lips. Hannah had led him to a little-used antechamber in a part of the palace scheduled for renovation. There was a settle along one side of the wainscoting and not much else but it provided the privacy for what they had in mind. Hannah had been married two years ago to Lord Ashley, a man in his late sixties. It was a marriage of convenience with both of them despising each other. Lord Ashley could care less about what she did with her time, and it was a dream that she had chosen Jack to satisfy her passion.

Hannah was his age and much more daring than him. She'd been befriended by Lucy Russell, the Countess of Bedford, who was the queen's Lady of the Bedchamber. Lady Lucy played in the masques along with the queen. Jack had met them during the January performances.

If only Leonard wouldn't ruin it. Jack could smell him outside. Surely he'd be sympathetic.

Hannah's hands drifted down to the buttons on his breeches. Jack cursed inwardly Leonard's deplorable timing. "Did you hear something?" he whispered, opening his eyes wide and trying to look startled.

"No. You must have imagined it."

He gave her a brief kiss. "I'll check. I won't be a moment."

"Be quick about it."

Jack slipped out the door with one last longing glance at Hannah. As soon as the door was closed, Leonard yanked him down the hallway till they were far enough away that they wouldn't be overheard.

"Quench those fires, Romeo," Leonard ordered, his lips twitching. With his sense of smell, there was no way Jack could have protested the truthfulness of his words. "We're past due at a rehearsal. Lady Hannah will have to wait for another, _much_ later time."

"But we don't need to rush away just because it's the last performance," Jack pleaded. 

"We'll leave at first light for London," Leonard countered, setting his jaw.

"But—"

"No arguing." Leonard glared at him for a moment. "You're far too young to have dalliances with warmbloods. And don't give me that sad-eyed look. We've already gone over this. You have no concept of the issues that could arise. I'll let you have one minute and _one minute only_ to say goodbye." He spun Jack around and gave him a shove in the back. "I'll be waiting, and I don't need to remind you I can hear everything you say."

Jack didn't feel like an infant, but in Leonard's eyes, he still was. Why did this new responsible Leonard have to surface now? This was the same guy who got in more scrapes than Jack. Hadn't they sneaked in messages and books to Walter Raleigh several times over the past few months? Perhaps that was the cause. Father H was constantly lecturing Leonard to be stricter. The sermons had finally sunk in.

Once he cooled down, Jack had to admit Leonard made a valid point. Jack had never done it with a warmblood. He might have injured Lady Hannah. She was more than ready for him, but he wasn't for her.

He should be content that he'd been able to resume most of the activities in his life. More importantly, his friends hadn't abandoned him. Lord Northumberland was currently at Hampton Court. It was the first time Jack had seen him since he'd been reborn, but his lordship joked with Jack as if nothing had changed. He even made Jack promise to visit him at Syon where Lady Dorothy wanted him to paint an additional mural. It was Jack's first painting commission in over a year.

At the rehearsal, the news from the troupe's manager was almost enough to make up for the disappointment over Hannah. The queen had requested additional music to be performed between scenes of the play. The manager wanted Jack to perform "Touch Me Lightly" after a romantic scene between Rosalind and Orlando. Tonight Jack's destiny would be to serenade the love of others, not his own.

He could lament the cruelty of fate, but he'd already known it was bound to happen. He wouldn't be able to have a lasting relationship with Hannah, much as he might wish it. With her soft chestnut curls and laughing blue eyes, she could have the pick of whoever she wanted and the glow he'd felt from her having chosen him would have to suffice. 

It still didn't make sense why Leonard was insistent on leaving so early the next day. Not that Jack needed to sleep, but the banquets and festivities went on till late in the night. The rest of their company would sleep in. Did Leonard really believe that Jack would try to sneak into Hannah's bedchamber?

After the meeting, Jack took his viol into the hall to practice. The actors were going over last-minute instructions with the manager on the temporary stage which had been erected at one end of the vaulted space. Jack chose a corner at the opposite end, away from the noise of the servants setting up chairs.

As he cycled through the pieces, his focus sharpened. He saved "Touch Me Lightly" for last. He'd already composed variations on the Tobias Hume piece. Was there time to make a new one? A secret variation dedicated to Hannah and the love that couldn't be? Jack let his thoughts drift, his fingers weaving harmonies as they pleased.

When a _wearh_ entered the hall, Jack paid little attention to him. The scent wasn't of anyone he recognized, but the slow heartbeat was unmistakable. There were a couple of _wearhs_ among the ambassadors. It was likely one of them.

Jack heard the _wearh_ move a chair closer to his corner and sit down, but his thoughts remained fixed on the Hannah variation. When he finished, he looked up and his heart leaped to his throat.

Sitting in front of him was Philippe de Clermont. Jack only recognized him through Father H's bloodlore, and his sire had warned him the memories were unreliable, but Jack knew in his bones he was right.

The _wearh_ was clad in the finest velvets and silks. He appeared to be about forty with a tawny mane of hair that conjured up a lion. He was altogether the most distinguished man, _wearh_ , or otherwise, Jack had ever seen. Bryn had told him that the count was the most ancient _wearh_ she'd heard of, someone who'd been reborn during the age of the Romans if not earlier.

Jack knew he was to never associate with any of the de Clermonts for fear of destroying the Roydons' future. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't simply flee without bringing yet more attention on himself. And there was a fierce glint in the count's hazel eyes which reminded him of the lion he'd seen in the king's menagerie.

"You play well, boy. I'm not familiar with the tune."

The count spoke excellent English but with a slight French accent. Jack swallowed and in stammering words explained the piece. His lordship—Jack didn't dare think of him as Philippe—knew music. He requested Jack play several of the other variations and quizzed him about Tobias Hume. Throughout, Jack had the uneasy impression he was being stalked by a fearsome predator.

"Does Your Grace plan to attend the play?" Jack asked.

"Yes and I hope the acting is as good as your musicianship," he said with a smile, which made him look less like he intended to eat Jack as a snack.

"We will be honored by your attendance, Your Grace," Jack said.

The _wearh_ rose. "I'd like to know who has entertained me so well. What is your name?"

"Jack Blackfriars, Your Grace."

#

Philippe made no sign of recognition. Did the pup know who he was? That would explain why he was so nervous. Philippe could smell the fear. Jack Blackfriars had every right to be terrified.

Why was Matthew's waif a _manjasang_? It had been pure happenstance that Philippe discovered him playing in the hall. He'd been drawn to the haunting music the pup was playing. He was an excellent musician, Philippe would give him that. But how much of a threat was he?

Philippe had only arrived at Hampton Court that morning, accompanied by Pierre. Philippe returned to the bedchamber assigned to him and found his servant preparing Philippe's wardrobe for the evening.

"Jack Blackfriars is here," he said, closing the door securely. "Were you aware of it?"

"I only found out this afternoon when you were meeting with Lord Cecil," Pierre said calmly. "I didn't talk with Jack but I spoke with Leonard Shoreditch and a female _manjasang_ named Bryn Walbrook."

Philippe knew the names. Leonard he hadn't seen in decades, but he'd attended several plays in Paris where Bryn was one of the performers. "Who sired the pup?"

"I don't know, _sieur_. The boy caught the plague last summer and was dying. Someone must have taken pity on him."

Was that the only reason? Until the sire was identified, nothing could be assumed. Someone could have wanted to pry secrets out of the boy. Rumors about Diana were circulating in Prague. Gerbert d'Aurillac could have heard of them. The _manjasang_ would stop at nothing to gain an advantage over the de Clermonts. He would also have been appalled at any mention of a _manjasang_ associating with a witch. It would be just like Gerbert to send one of his brood to infiltrate London.

Hubbard's family was also a possibility. Philippe was reasonably confident Hubbard wouldn't have dared sire any offspring, but he might not exert total control over the _manjasangs_ in his domain. Could Hubbard have formed an alliance with Gerbert? The two hated the de Clermonts in equal measure.

One thing was certain. Jack was a vulnerability. He was an infant, easy to exploit. Possibly he'd already betrayed Matthew and Diana. Philippe wouldn't be able to return to France till the extent of the damage was known and the problem was no longer an issue.

#

When Leonard stepped into the great hall, Jack was the only musician present. The actors had left to get dressed. Leonard could smell Jack's tension as soon as he entered. The way he plied his bow on the viol's strings, it was a wonder nothing had snapped.

Leonard masked his concern, hoping he hadn't misjudged Jack. Had he tumbled into love's well over Lady Hannah, after all?

"The play is supposed to be a comedy," Leonard commented mildly when Jack stopped playing. "You best save that selection for a tragedy."

When Jack looked up, the bleakness in his expression filled Leonard with dismay. Surely this was more than a wounded heart.

"Philippe de Clermont was here," Jack whispered, setting his viol down on the floor beside him.

Leonard's stomach plummeted to the ground. He pulled up a stool to sit beside him and dropped his voice to a murmur barely audible to even _wearh_ ears. "Are you positive?"

Jack nodded. "He didn't introduce himself, but he looked exactly like the image I obtained from Father H's blood. Do you know why he's at Hampton Court?" His eyes widened as he scanned Leonard's face. "Is this why we're leaving so early?"

"I've never met the count, but Matthew's servant Pierre spoke with me this afternoon. I'd hoped we could leave without you finding out."

"Pierre's here too? I haven't seen him since the Roydons left."

"He's attending the count. Pierre recognized you by your scent and spoke with Bryn and me. He didn't mention he'd tell Philippe."

"I don't think the count knew who I was. He asked for my name." Jack swiped a hand through his forelock, causing his blond thatch to look even more disheveled. "I didn't know what to do. There was no point in lying. Any of the players could have told him."

"Don't worry about it." Leonard would stress enough for both of them. "Phillippe most likely has no idea who you are. By now you should know that _wearhs_ keep their secrets to themselves. Pierre urged us to leave. He wouldn't have said that if he intended to tell Philippe. Just to be safe, we'll depart immediately after the performance."

Jack nodded absently. "Do you know why Father H hates the de Clermonts?"

"Nah, you're in a better position to understand than I am. I've never drunk his blood." No point in discussing the remarks Father H made about the de Clermonts. He apparently despised the entire family. He called them totally ruthless without an ounce of compassion in their bones. Jack believed Matthew wasn't that way, but he could be atypical.

Father H's order for them to stay far away from the de Clermonts was still reverberating in Leonard's head. "Philippe's here on a mission from the King of France," he told Jack. "He just arrived today. He'll likely stay for a week or more. He'll soon forget he met you."

Bryn strolled in, dressed in an elegant gown that Leonard suspected she'd borrowed from one of the ladies-in-waiting. Her eyebrows raised in mock horror. "Jack, you haven't changed yet. Do you intend for them to delay the start of the play because of you?"

He winced guiltily. "Leonard, will you watch over my viol?"

"Of course." _And you, too_.

When Jack left, Bryn demanded an update. When she heard about Philippe, she agreed on the necessity of departure. "I've never met the count either, but we can't take a chance. Could Jack stay with Tom at Syon?"

Leonard shook his head. "We're scheduled to perform at the Globe for the next two weeks. Besides, if Philippe is determined to see Jack again, he can just as easily find him at Syon. Jack will be safer in London where he's under Father H's protection."

Leonard hoped he was being overly cautious. He was sure Pierre wouldn't have mentioned the events at the lodge to the count unless he was asked a direct question. The Roydons had now been gone for thirteen years. Matthew had never returned to London. Leonard wasn't even positive that Philippe had met Diana.

All valid points. So why did he feel so uneasy that this wouldn't end well?

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! In next week's chapter, Leonard will find out if his concern is warranted. I created Lady Hannah but Lady Lucy Russell, the Countess of Bedford, is a historical figure. The Vision of the Twelve Goddesses was performed at Hampton Court Palace on January 8, 1604. Queen Anne and eleven of her ladies-in-waiting participated in the performance and dances. I imagined an encore performance for this story._

_Blog:[ Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation ](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/) . See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy._  
_Story Visuals and Music on Pinterest:[ Six-Crossed Knot board ](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/six-crossed-knot/) on [ Silbrith's Stories ](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/) _  
_Twitter:[ @silbrith ](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	2. Whitehall

**Globe Theatre, Southwark, London.**

Once Jack was back in London, he told Father H about his encounter with the Count de Clermont. The priest growled about how Philippe should stay in France where he belonged and ordered Jack to remain close to home for the next month. He refused to speculate about how much a threat the count was.

Leonard continued to be jumpy about potential problems, but it had been over a week since that chance meeting at Hampton Court, and nothing untoward had happened. Jack reasoned that if the count knew about his background, his lordship would have even more reason to distance himself. De Clermont would probably assume Jack wanted some kind of recognition, but he already knew that was impossible.

Although the count was technically Father H's grandsire, the priest had cut himself off from all ties with the de Clermonts, the most powerful _wearh_ family in Europe. Jack suspected their wealth may have been part of the problem. Father H tarred the entire family as being too arrogant. He conveyed the impression that he and Jack would be viewed as guttersnipes by the de Clermonts. That made Jack all the more curious to learn about Benjamin, the de Clermont who'd sired Father H, but Father H would never discuss him.

"Hey, are you going to stare off in space forever?" Leonard asked, breaking into his thoughts. "All the other players have left. Soon we'll be kicked out of the Globe."

Jack winced at losing track of his surroundings. "The audience appeared to like the play," he said, opting to change the subject before Leonard could question him further. They'd performed a new work by Will Shakespeare, _Measure for Measure_.

"That was never in doubt. A tale of brothels full of bawdy puns is bound to please." Leonard slipped on his cape. "Even if, at times, it looked like everything would end disastrously, Will managed to pull a hat trick—"

"—and a bed trick!" Jack interjected with a grin.

Leonard chuckled. " _And_ a bed trick to save the day."

"I talked with Bryn after the performance, and she didn't approve," Jack confided. "She thought Will had done a great disservice to women."

"I'm not surprised by her reaction. It's just as well women aren't allowed to act. They would have wanted to change all their lines." Leonard slung an arm around Jack's neck. "I hope you're not still mooning over Lady Hannah."

"Nah, I knew it wouldn't work out." That was basically true, but Jack would have liked to continue the fantasy a while longer. Still, he was glad Leonard thought his moodiness was about Hannah, not the count.

"Have you seen Blanche?" Leonard asked.

Jack shook his head. "She's gone to Cornwall to visit friends."

"Never mind. Someone else will come along."

Leonard looked a little wistful, making Jack wonder if he was thinking as much about himself as Jack. Leonard hadn't had any luck with a lasting relationship. _Wearhs_ by their nature never had an easy time of it. Only a lucky few found mates. Liaisons in Leonard's case were even riskier because of his preference for men. There were rumors the king was the same way, but you couldn't tell it from his proclamations.

"Don't forget, Bryn wants us to join her tonight for a hunt," Leonard said. "Are you still meeting with Lord Northumberland today?"

"Aye, he wants to discuss the mural I'll paint for him at Syon. He'll be expecting me soon. I should head off for Whitehall Palace before it gets any later."

"I'll walk with you," Leonard offered. "Bryn's likely there visiting friends. After your meeting, we'll leave together."

Whitehall was about a half-hour stroll along the Thames from the Globe. Jack suspected the real reason Leonard wanted to accompany him was because he was worried about Count de Clermont. The king had returned to Whitehall two days ago, leaving the queen at Hampton Court, but that didn't necessarily mean the count accompanied him. More likely, he'd already returned home.

#

"Do the other members of the council agree with us about the treaty with Spain?" Philippe asked Hal Percy.

"Not all of them," Hal admitted, "but Cecil will sway them in the right direction." He smiled ruefully at Philippe. "It's fortunate you don't have to depend upon my powers of persuasion."

Philippe was meeting with Hal in one of the small offices at Whitehall that had been set aside for use by the Privy Council. He'd been pleasantly surprised that a few months earlier the king had appointed Northumberland to the council, ignoring the objections from a couple of his key advisors.

"Howard continues to make waves," Philippe added as quietly as he could with any hope that Hal would hear him. The earl was growing increasingly deaf. "The king relies on Howard more than ever and now he has Cecil's ear as well." Although Henry Howard was in favor of the treaty with Spain, he was generally not an ally.

Hal nodded, his somber face indicating he was fully aware of the implications. "Walter's wife has moved back into Russell House. She hopes soon to be granted permission to visit him."

"I have spoken on Walter's behalf to the king," Philippe said, "but he continues to be adamantly opposed to a pardon." There was no need to mention that Howard was likely the cause. As one of the judges presiding over Raleigh's trial, he'd been unrelenting in his demands for a conviction. Philippe stood next to Hal and lowered his voice. "Howard stokes the king's fear of witches. He's made accusations of several nobles having a pernicious interest in the occult."

He was relieved to see Hal nod his understanding. Philippe resumed his seat in the carved oak armchair. Hal could fill in the blanks. The earl and Walter were both known for their interest in alchemy—not a healthy reputation in the present climate.

It was well that Diana had already left. Witches were being persecuted in ever increasing numbers. Philippe had hoped he could temper James's fears, but against Howard's vitriol, his words would carry little weight.

"I'm grateful for the friendship you've shown to my son Matthew," Philippe continued. _And Diana_.

"That was a happy period in my life," Hal said with a smile that contained more than a little wistfulness.

"I recently learned you also extended your friendship to a boy who was close to Matthew."

Hal's eyes crinkled. "Jack? He's given me as much as I have him. Walter, Tom Harriot, and George Chapman are also fond of him. Tom has been much more of a guardian than I have."

"I heard Jack at Hampton Court. He's quite a musician."

"And an excellent artist as well," Hal added to Philippe's surprise. "He's already painted several murals for us at Syon, and my wife would like him to do another one. He's meeting with me later today to discuss it."

"Jack didn't mention his art to me."

"I'm not surprised. The boy is humble about his talent, but Nicholas Hilliard spoke highly of him. I hired Nicholas to give Jack lessons, and now I'm reaping the benefit of it."

"I gather there's been a recent change in the boy's status," Philippe said, keeping his voice neutral. "Do you know who's responsible?" Hal knew he'd met Jack and would have immediately recognized he was a _manjasang_.

"Andrew Hubbard. For the past several years, he's also watched over Jack. I believe the priest was instrumental in getting him admitted to choir school. Last summer, Jack was dying from the plague. I'm glad Andrew saved him. I've assured Jack his new circumstances will make no difference in my regard for him."

Why did Hubbard take an interest in Jack? Matthew despised the priest, and the feeling was reciprocal. Would Hubbard have sired Jack as an act of defiance against the de Clermonts? With Benjamin for a father, the idea wasn't far-fetched.

Worse, Hubbard might view Jack as the means to expose Diana and Matthew.

He could be working in league with Benjamin or Gerbert to destroy the family. Hubbard might have seen Jack as a pawn in his overall strategy. Why else would he have disobeyed the agreement? He must have known what the consequences would be if Philippe ever found out about it.

The knowledge Jack possessed about Matthew and Diana made him a very real threat. No matter how worthy the boy might be, he'd have to be killed.

#

When Jack arrived at Whitehall, he gave his name to the guard at the entrance to the administrative chambers. The wing where the Privy Counselors had their offices was unfamiliar to him, but he didn't need to worry about finding Lord Northumberland. He was escorted the entire way by one of the yeoman guards.

His lordship was writing when Jack entered the room. Unexpectedly, he frowned at Jack's bow. "This can't be Jack Blackfriars. Where's Lobero?"

Jack broke into a relieved grin. "I didn't realize he was invited to the palace. It's probably for the best that I didn't bring him. Mop's still a puppy. He would have loved to mangle your official correspondence."

"I'll let you off the hook this time, but I expect him to accompany you when you're painting." His lordship stood up and grabbed a chair, placing it next to his. "Come see the sketch Dorothy made."

Not an ounce of haughtiness to Lord Northumberland. He always made Jack feel welcome despite his low standing.

With a careless swipe of his hand, his lordship swept away all the undoubtedly highly important documents in front of him, many of which contained elaborate seals. Together they worked on concepts for the new mural. It was to be an idealized woodland scene, similar to the latest style of tapestries coming out of the Low Countries. The King's Men would be on hiatus after next week. Jack planned to take advantage of the break and move back to Syon and stay with Tom who'd already returned to his small brick house on the estate. It would be like old times to live there once more.

By the time Jack left his lordship's office, dusk had already fallen. Leonard had told him to go to the players' rehearsal room where he and Bryn would be waiting for him. As Jack walked down the wood-paneled corridor, a wiry shape darted out from the shadows.

"Pierre!" Despite the years of separation, Jack recognized him at once. Normally he would have been overjoyed to see him, but after Leonard's report of his conversation with the de Clermont servant, Jack wasn't at all sure how Pierre felt about him. Jack didn't know whether he should bow, hug him, or give the _wearh_ greeting of clasping his elbow. He stood uneasily, waiting for Pierre to make the first move.

He breathed easier when Pierre gave him a welcoming smile. It reminded him of his time at the Hart and Crown when Pierre had been one of the first to befriend him.

Pierre's black eyes were as bright as ever. He looked just the way Jack had remembered—and drawn—him, except for his height. Back then, everyone seemed tall to Jack, but Pierre was now a few inches shorter than Jack. His tanned skin was stretched over well-developed muscles. Jack suspected Pierre could easily beat him in a wrestling contest.

"Leonard told you about our meeting?" Pierre asked.

"Aye, I was sorry I missed you at Hampton Court," Jack said.

"The _comte_ is currently at Whitehall. He met with Lord Northumberland earlier in the day, and his lordship mentioned you'd be here. _Sieur_ Philippe would like to see you."

"He knows about my time at the Hart and Crown?" Jack asked, not daring to mention the Roydons.

"Yes, please follow me."

Pierre led him through a maze of passages, keeping their conversation centered on Jack's experiences as a musician with the King's Men. In a way, he was grateful that Pierre didn't ask him any personal questions, but he sensed it would only be a brief respite. The count knew about his history with the Roydons. Pierre would have had to answer his questions truthfully.

How would Jack respond if Count Philippe asked him about the Roydons? When he was a child, Jack had eavesdropped on their conversations. Mistress Roydon in particular appeared to hold the count in high regard. She'd spoken with fondness of him. But the count quite possibly didn't know anything about her being a witch. Most _wearhs_ and witches didn't get along. For that matter, the count might not be on good terms with his son. The count as the head of his sire's family would demand Jack's full loyalty and obedience, but Father H refused to acknowledge the de Clermonts.

Jack had the uneasy sense he was being tossed into the lion's den, and whatever he did would be disastrous.

#

Philippe took advantage of the solitude of the fencing room to demonstrate the ferocity of his rapier on the straw dummy. By now, Pierre would be in position outside Northumberland's office. Jack wouldn't recognize his scent since he hadn't seen Pierre for over a decade. The boy would have no good reason to refuse the invitation unless he had a guilty conscience. Any hesitation would be futile. Pierre could easily subdue a slender twig like Jack.

At the first whiff of their scents, Philippe placed his rapier on a bench. A quiet knock on the door was followed by their appearance.

Jack gave a low bow when he stepped inside. Fear radiated off him in waves.

"I'll wait outside, _sieur_ ," Pierre said and withdrew. He knew his task was to ensure that they'd be uninterrupted.

"You know who I am?" Philippe asked in French.

"Yes, my lord," he replied in the same tongue.

"Do you know of your relationship to me?"

"Yes, my lord. You are my grandsire's grandfather." The boy's accent was true. Philippe gave him a point for that. Better than Diana's, by far.

"Then you're aware you're a de Clermont. It's time we became better acquainted." He kept his tone friendly. There was no need to add to his terror. What lies had Hubbard told the pup about him? "I find the best way to assess a man is through a friendly bout. Do you fence?"

"No, my lord. What little I know is what I picked up in the theater. I fear you'll find my ability sorely lacking."

"Then we will wrestle," Philippe declared. As the pup stared at him in astonishment, he added, "Your king Henry VIII wrestled the French king François at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. He lost."

A shadow of a smile flickered across Jack's face. "And I shall as well."

"There is no shame in losing. You should first remove your doublet and shirt." Philippe had already removed his jacket. He stripped off his shirt and waited for Jack to comply. 

"Do as you're told," he ordered when Jack stood rooted to the spot, eyeing him with dread. He started at Philippe's words and hastened to obey. Stripping off his upper garments, he placed them on the bench.

This was one wrestling match that wouldn't last long. Philippe had no desire to give the boy an incapacitating injury, but preventing it could be his greatest challenge. Normally, _manjasang_ infants possessed more strength than at any other time in their lives, but it was increasingly evident Jack was not typical.

Philippe directed him to stand in the center of the exercise area. The floor was strewn with straw to cushion falls and absorb blood.

Philippe adopted a low stance and began circling him, thrusting aside thoughts of the inequity of the situation. The look in the boy's eyes reminded him of a wounded deer being stalked by a wolf. Jack rubbed his slim hands against his thighs. They were the hands of an artist. Philippe would take particular care that they weren't injured. Although, did it really matter? If the boy had inherited blood rage from Hubbard or had betrayed Matthew and Diana, his life would shortly be over.

Philippe with one lightning-quick move seized Jack's waist and slammed him to the floor. The boy scrambled up but was quickly tossed again. This time, Philippe gave him no chance to recover but with one arm hurled him to the far end of the floor. This needed to end quickly.

After a series of rapid throws in quick succession, Philippe nudged his dagger so that the hilt was prominently displayed. He then leaped upon Jack, crushing his ribcage with one arm.

"There are rumors Matthew was fond of a witch," he hissed in the boy's face. "Is that true?"

Jack stared at him, lips clamped shut.

"Answer me, whelp. You owe me your complete obedience." He increased his pressure on his chest. Any more weight, and ribs would shatter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he gasped, his eyes flitting to the dagger on Philippe's belt.

"If I find that whore, she'll regret the day she ever laid eyes on Matthew. I'll destroy her bit by bit, dismembering her body into so many pieces no one will ever find her—"

At his words, the boy's eyes went pitch black. It was the confirmation he'd expected. Philippe relaxed his grip so Jack could snatch the dagger. With blood rage, he wouldn't be able to control himself. He'd attack. Philippe would kill him. It would be done. This was all Hubbard's fault. The pup's death would rest on Hubbard's conscience, not Philippe's.

But Jack didn't attack. He continued to stare blankly at Philippe, his face frozen in a look of despair. When Philippe called to him, he didn't answer. He appeared lost in some internal horror. Seizing the opportunity, Philippe lunged at his chest and bit down, drinking in his blood.

Jack's foremost thoughts flooded into him. Fear for Diana and Matthew. Wild thoughts of warning her about Philippe. The need to stay alive to keep them safe . . .

#

Jack awoke slowly, feeling like he'd been dragged behind a galloping horse over cobblestones. His memories were all hazy and coated in blood. His chest felt like he'd been knifed. Then he remembered. He opened his eyes to see the count tying a length of linen around his ribcage. A pad of thick cloth had been placed over his wound.

"You'll heal quickly enough," de Clermont said when he noticed Jack's eyes on him. "This will keep your shirt from being stained. Are you ready to sit up?"

Jack nodded dumbly, stunned at the change in attitude. Pierre appeared from somewhere behind him, holding his shirt. Pierre helped him stand and get dressed. Jack wondered how long he'd been out. The count was already fully clad in shirt, doublet, and jacket.

"I had to know your true feelings about Matthew and Diana," Philippe said. "Their futures depend upon us. That's something you understand."

"Yes, my lord."

"Call me Philippe," he said. "You are a de Clermont, even though it can't be acknowledged. Matthew is unaware of your sire's ancestry, and that will remain the case."

"You'll feel better after you wash your face," Pierre murmured, directing Jack to a basin of water on a side bench. The only wound he'd received was to his chest. Jack knew from experience that the aches and bruises would fade rapidly, but not his shame. Philippe had read his blood. He knew Jack's secrets. He knew Father H's as well. Jack had dishonored his sire by allowing it to happen.

"You can trust _Sieur_ Philippe," Pierre said, wringing out a rag. "He loves both Matthew and Diana. What he said earlier was a test to judge the depth of your attachment to them. You must not hold the words against him."

Pierre had never lied to him, but there was no reason for Philippe to care about Jack. From his lordship's standpoint, Jack could easily be considered a threat. Was this merely a delaying tactic to allow someone else to kill him? Uneasily, he wiped his face. The rag removed the blood, but not the dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Pierre, the boy needs strengthening. Bring us wine," Philippe ordered. "Jack, come sit beside me."

Jack took the place Philippe indicated on the bench along the wall and braced himself for what new test the count would inflict on him.

Pierre poured a dark red liquid from a pitcher into two pewter tankards. Jack sniffed his gingerly. It was a Bordeaux mixed with deer blood. Relieved, he took a sip even as Philippe continued to study him. His eyes no longer seemed quite as fierce.

"When it comes to Diana and Matthew's safety, I'll use any means necessary to protect them. I now know you share those sentiments."

Jack rubbed a muscle in his thigh to ease the knot which had formed. Had the pummeling really been necessary? To be fair, from Philippe's perspective, it probably was. No matter what he said, Jack wouldn't have told him anything about the Roydons nor would he have willingly allowed him to drink his blood.

"Part of what I told you is true," Philippe continued. "There are rumors of Matthew being seen with a witch in Prague. Some have even mentioned a boy who was with them. You must redouble your vigilance. Both witches and _wearhs_ have been making inquiries. No one must learn anything about the Roydons."

"I would die before betraying them," Jack said, locking his eyes with Philippe.

He briefly clasped Jack's elbow. "I believe you. I've read as much in your heart and I know you wouldn't harm them intentionally, but our enemies can conceal their motives, hide behind masks."

"Like a friend pretending to be my enemy?" Jack challenged.

"Precisely," Philippe, his lips twitching. He raised his head and sniffed.

"Leonard and Bryn approach," Pierre murmured. "I'll see to them."

"Let them in," Philippe said. He cocked an eyebrow at Jack. "I assume you approve?"

"It's preferable to them breaking the door down."

Seconds later, they rushed inside. One look at their agitated faces was enough to know they'd smelled his blood and feared the worst. When they saw him sitting next to Philippe, they careened to a stop.

Jack stood up, placing his tankard on the bench. "My lord, I'd like to introduce my friends, Bryn Walbrook and Leonard Shoreditch." Addressing them, he added. "The Count de Clermont graciously demonstrated some wrestling holds."

Bryn executed a formal curtsy, while Leonard doffed his cap and bowed. "We apologize for the interruption, my lord," Leonard said, "but we feared Jack had been injured."

Jack gave what he hoped was a casual wince. "My clumsiness bested me." He nodded to a wood rake lying next to a stack of extra straw. "I tripped on the rake, and the handle gouged me. It's of no consequence."

Philippe stood up. "I hope the injury won't discourage you from continuing to practice. You show promise. I look forward to a future match."

Jack devoutly hoped he was kidding. It was not his intention to ever wrestle Philippe again in his life.

"I shouldn't keep you from your friends," Philippe added. "Thank you for an entertaining bout." He gave a quick nod which Jack took as a sign he was dismissed.

"Tell us what really happened," Bryn hissed once they were safely out of earshot of any _wearh_ ears.

Jack couldn't possibly tell them everything. They didn't know who Father H's sire was. Jack's blood connection to the de Clermonts must remain, like so much else, a secret. "The count knows about Mistress Roydon," he explained. "He'd heard about me and wanted to make sure I could be trusted."

"Were you able to convince him?" Leonard asked.

"I believe so." Jack wasn't as positive as he made it sound. Philippe knew all about him now—his life on the streets before the Roydons, the scrapes he'd gotten into. Philippe knew his hopes, his fears, and he also knew about the bloodsickness he had. He could easily decide Jack was too risky to keep alive.

Jack explained about the rumors. Leonard and Bryn would have to be on guard too. Fortunately, neither one was aware of timewalking. The less they knew the better.

* * *

_Notes: In canon, Philippe was known for his fondness of tests of loyalty. I assumed that he would have demanded an especially challenging one of Jack. Philippe's not done. Next week, he pays Hubbard a visit._

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	3. Greyfriars

"I've been expecting you," Hubbard said without turning his head when Philippe entered the nave of Christ Church Greyfriars.

The priest was kneeling in front of the altar in prayer with no other _manjasangs_ present. Philippe interpreted that as a promising signal he was ready for a substantive discussion with no witnesses. Philippe gestured for Pierre to take a seat in the pews.

"Then you know the reason I'm here," Philippe said. "Why did you break our agreement?"

Hubbard stood up and took a seat in one of the clergy chairs in the chancel. "The boy's blood surely provided you with the answer," he said bitterly. "Our understanding was that you wouldn't interfere in London if I didn't sire any children. I have no desire to propagate by ungodly methods. Jack has been the lone exception. You broke the agreement by your vicious attack on a boy who had done no harm to you."

Philippe sat in a chair beside him. "It was the only reliable means of discovering the truth. I will stop at nothing to protect my family."

Hubbard jutted out his chin. "As will I. In that we're alike."

Was that a tiny recognition that he was a de Clermont? At the very least, it was an acknowledgment that he understood Philippe's motivation. "I repeat, why did you break our agreement?" He thought he knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from Hubbard's lips. Bloodlore wasn't infallible. Philippe was confident of where Jack's heart lay, but the priest was another matter.

"I was faced with two contradictory promises," Hubbard said. "It was impossible to adhere to both of them so I chose the one which I believed took precedence. Diana requested I protect Jack, and I gave her my word. Under the same circumstances, would you have left him to die from the plague?"

"The boy has bloodsickness," Philippe, not answering him directly. "If the Breton witch's prophecy is correct, it could easily turn into blood rage."

"And from what he told me about yesterday's events, you did your best to provoke it," Hubbard snapped. "Did Jack become violent?"

"No, that's why he's still alive."

"Matthew has full-blown blood rage. He's killed untold hundreds of people yet you let him live." Hubbard's lips tightened as he added, "Benjamin is a plague upon the world. Have you attempted to free the world of him?" When Philippe didn't immediately respond, he hammered home what he perceived to be his advantage. "Jack has a good heart. He's an artist, a musician. His only crimes have been minor scrapes."

Philippe cocked a brow. "Like sneaking into the Tower?"

Hubbard groaned. "Don't remind me. But even then, his motive was selfless."

Philippe wouldn't argue the point. Walter was a Knight of Lazarus. In assisting the man, Jack had also done the Knights' work. "For once, we find ourselves on the same side," he conceded. "We both want to protect Diana."

"And Jack's father," Hubbard added. "I swore to protect Matthew as I do Jack. You should be grateful."

Was Hubbard trying to place the blame for Jack's sickness on Matthew? "He didn't make Jack a _manjasang_. You did."

"And Jack respects me as his sire. But you read his heart. He considers Matthew to be his father even if he won't admit it to himself, let alone anyone else."

_And it's not just Jack who feels that way_. Philippe saw the expression on Matthew's face through Jack's remembrances of the two of them together. Philippe hadn't seen him with that expression since the years when Matthew's son Lukas was alive.

"The bloodsickness makes Jack weaker than he should be," Philippe warned. "Any wounds will take longer to heal. He'll need extra protection if he hopes to have a chance of reconnecting with the Roydons."

"I know that. Leonard and Bryn do as well."

Philippe snorted. "I had a taste of that yesterday."

Hubbard's face relaxed into a wry smile. "They've acted as big brothers to Jack ever since he was eight, even Bryn. She was masquerading as a boy back then. Their relationship's not likely to change."

Philippe felt Diana's presence in that humble church. What had she done to secure Hubbard's agreement to protect both Jack and Matthew? Philippe hadn't found anything in Jack's memory, and the priest would never reveal what had taken place. Was this Diana's influence that he and Hubbard appeared to be on the verge of negotiating a truce over the pup? _All right, daughter. I'll go along with your wishes for now._

Hubbard stood up. "I'd like to show you something before you leave. It may serve to make you more at peace with your decision. Pierre can come along if he wishes." Hubbard was no fool. He knew Philippe had decided to not exact punishment for Jack's birth.

Hubbard led them to the bell tower. Philippe had not entered the structure before. The masonry appeared solid despite its age. Rather than going upstairs, Hubbard opened a small door leading to the crypt below.

Candles were lit in the vaulted undercroft. Jack's scents of rosemary and fig were blended with those of paint pigments, beeswax, and dog fur.

#

When Jack smelled Philippe and Pierre on the stairs, he was thankful that Father H was with them. A small positive sign. The previous night, he'd told Father H about the encounter with Philippe. He'd never seen the priest so furious. What the count had done not only exposed Jack's secrets but those of his sire as well. Jack had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but it must have been long enough for Philippe to glean every possible shred of information.

Retreating from Father H's anger, Jack had sought refuge in the crypt and buried himself in painting. When he returned to London from Norfolk in late January, he'd started the project. The witches of St. James Garlickhythe were using the space for their meetings. Under the new king, they faced increasing persecution, and the crypt was a much more secure gathering place than their homes.

When Jack broached the idea of a mural with Mistress Norman, she'd been enthusiastic. He was painting scenes from Mistress Roydon's time in London. Goody Alsop and all the other witches of the gathering were depicted on the walls, and no one complained that the images of Mistress Roydon were the most numerous.

Jack lay down his brush when they entered the vaulted chamber and tried to keep his nervousness from showing. Father H had his stone face firmly in place. Jack couldn't smell any blood of any of them, and Pierre gave him an encouraging smile. An indication he wasn't in trouble?

Mop gave a tentative wag of his tail to the strangers. He'd accepted Father H readily into his pack, but the newcomers would need to be carefully evaluated.

"I'm here at Andrew's invitation," Philippe said. Had he chosen to use Father H's given name as a confirmation they'd reached an understanding? "Lord Northumberland referred to your artistic skill." His eyes sweeping over the murals, he drew close to them.

"There's still much to be done," Jack said apologetically. "Eventually I'll fill in all the scenes with paint." His words trailed off as Philippe continued to stare at the drawings. The only finished depiction of Mistress Roydon was in one of his favorite scenes. She was gazing up at Corra with delight as the firedrake swooped over the Thames.

Philippe didn't say a word, and his expression was impossible to read. He must think Jack's ability vastly inferior to the masterpieces he'd seen. The count had no doubt traveled frequently to Italy and acquired works from artists in Florence and Venice such as Jack had admired at Hampton Court.

"You painted the firedrake!" Pierre exclaimed. "I miss that _petite vouivre._ "

Jack grinned, his tension easing. "As do I! Corra's one of my favorite subjects. I even snuck her into a mural at Syon. Only Lord Northumberland knows who she is. He was delighted. He said the scene brought back memories of when Corra flew through Russell House."

Pierre held out his hand for Mop to sniff. "That was a picnic not to be forgotten. When did you acquire this _galant_?"

"His name is Lobero." Jack shrugged awkwardly. "Lobero the Second, actually. The Lobero you knew died a year ago. Bryn gave me the puppy last November."

Pierre picked up a well-chewed tennis ball and tossed it for Mop. "Lobero is about the same age as his namesake was when the Roydons left. Will you add Lobero to these paintings?"

"If only I could persuade them Mop's a familiar, I would," Jack said with a laugh.

Father H rolled his eyes. "Don't give that puppy ideas. He's already too spirited. We don't need him breathing fire or casting spells."

Jack snickered at the thought. Father H was as fond of Mop as he was.

"It's been over thirteen years since I've seen Diana," Philippe murmured.

Jack spun around. For a few moments his anxiety had lessened, but it returned in full force at the sound of Philippe's voice. "I hope my portrait is pleasing, my lord." Addressing him to his face as Philippe suddenly seemed to be an inexcusable affront.

"There's no need for formality in this group," Philippe chided mildly. "In answer to your question, you've rendered her beautifully. Seeing your paintings of her is a gift I will treasure." Before Jack could stammer his appreciation, he added, "These are all your personal memories?"

"Aye, with some added scenes which the witches described. I hadn't witnessed Mistress Roydon creating the rowan tree but Mistress Norman told me about it."

"And the dragon you drew?"

"She's really a firedrake," Jack said. "She only has two legs. She's Mistress Roydon's familiar."

"You were able to see her?"

"Aye, unless she was wrapped inside the Mistress."

"Is that so?" Philippe arched an eyebrow at Pierre. "I can see I should have asked you more questions."

Mop, ever the opportunist, dropped his ball on Philippe's foot, provoking a chuckle. "I take this as a sign that you've accepted me." Philippe crouched down to look Mop in the eyes. "I'll make a deal with you. If you coax your master to tell me more stories about his time with the Roydons, I'll play ball with you."

It was a command Jack was happy to comply with. There was no need to hold anything back. Philippe had already acquired much of the knowledge through Jack's blood. For the first time since the Roydons left, Jack had someone who wanted to hear the stories and he could relate them without fear of repercussions.

Jack had drawn scenes of the Hart and Crown and Christ Church Greyfriars. He'd depicted Mistress Roydon at Russell House with Corra. Mistress Norman's home was also shown with Goody Alsop sitting on the settle by the hearth. No detail was too small or insignificant for Philippe.

Father H brought down a bottle of wine for them to share. When Philippe asked for details about his life at the Hart and Crown, Pierre joined in with anecdotes.

"Who was the man Matthew rescued you from?" Philippe asked.

"My former master, Stidolph," Jack said. "He discovered where I was living and tried to blackmail me." He explained the trap Master Roydon had designed.

"It was your first hunt with Matthew," Philippe commented. "God willing, there will be others." He turned to the mural. "I look forward to coming back and seeing the paintings when they're complete. Do you have any scenes in mind that you haven't started?"

"Tom—that's Thomas Harriot—suggested I fill in the vault with the night sky."

Father H snorted. "He would. Tom sees stars everywhere."

"Aye, and there's a connection to Mistress Roydon. We saw a shooting star on the way to Prague." He turned to Pierre. "Do you remember?"

"That was the one you stayed up half the night to draw."

"And it was worth it. Tom was delighted. He called it a comet. Goody Alsop said it was a signal of what Mistress Roydon would mean to our world."

"I wish I could have met Goody Alsop," Philippe said.

"She was a weaver like Diana," Father H said quietly.

"And the young witch in Norwich, Annick?" Philippe asked. At Father H's nod, he turned to Jack. "The future she foretold for you won't be easy. Will you be able to refrain from human blood?"

"I have no desire for it," Jack said. Surely he didn't need to provide any details. Philippe must have learned how sick he'd been. The count already knew he was a misfit. Master Roydon would probably consider him inferior, someone who had no right to be a _wearh_.

"Every _manjasang_ must choose the route they are to follow," Philippe said unexpectedly. "For some, it is war or conquest. For others"—he nodded at Father H—"it's service. You will find your path in time." He scanned the walls. "You've made a promising start. Our family has never had an artist of your caliber. The king's business will require me to make return visits. I look forward to seeing you again, Jack Blackfriars—both you and your paintings."

He used the term "our family." Was Jack reading too much into it? Perhaps it was merely a signal that Philippe expected to be obeyed as head of the family? Father H didn't recognize Philippe's authority but Jack longed to.

When Philippe left, they clasped elbows. The ancient gesture brought back memories of Master Roydon doing the same with Gallowglass. When he was a child, Jack had assumed that was a family custom. Now he knew it was one shared by all _wearhs_. Leonard and Bryn didn't use it with him. Did they have difficulty accepting his new status too? Jack sensed the count wouldn't be as tolerant about lapses in protocol.

**Sept-Tours. Three weeks later.**

Philippe stopped off in Paris on the way back to Auvergne to report to the king. Matthew and Françoise had already arrived at Sept-Tours by the time he returned home. Thoughts of what he'd learned from Jack's bloodlore continued to simmer in the back of his mind but it was several days before he could act on them.

One morning when Matthew and Ysabeau were out hunting, Philippe took advantage of their absence to speak with Françoise. He found her hanging laundry in the courtyard outside the kitchen.

"I have news from England which may be of interest to you," he said, approaching the clothesline. "While I was at Hampton Court, I chanced upon a promising young musician named Jack Blackfriars."

Her eyes flashed recognition as she set the basket of linens on the ground.

"There's been a change in his status," Philippe added, keeping his voice a low murmur. "He's a _manjasang_ now. The secrets he knows required a loyalty test."

Françoise nodded. Anyone who knew him would accept without question his insistence on a test.

"I learned through his bloodlore that a few years ago you and Gallowglass cared for him at the Old Lodge."

"That is correct, _sieur_. He was brought to us after having been severely injured."

"Is it also true that you and Gallowglass healed him with your blood?" Philippe pressed. The information he'd acquired from Jack was vague enough to require clarification.

"I used a technique Marthe had taught me." Her rawboned face expressed no hint of apology, nor did he expect any. Normally he wouldn't have asked her to share her secrets. It hadn't been necessary to reveal how she'd acquired the knowledge, and he wouldn't hold her forthrightness against either her or Marthe.

"Frankly, I didn't believe it would work," she admitted.

"The pup suffers from a strange form of bloodsickness. It may be related to what happened at the Old Lodge. He's been warned by a weaver that if he feeds off warmbloods, he'll develop blood rage. He is a member of Hubbard's family but I've decided to also keep an eye on him." Philippe didn't explain the blood relationship. It wasn't necessary for Françoise to know, but she might believe there was one. _Manjasangs_ knew how to stifle curiosity. "I may require you to travel to London to check on him."

Philippe questioned her about the procedure she'd used, but Françoise was unable to provide any information about why Jack had managed to tolerate _wearh_ blood so well.

"I believe you kept several drawings Jack made during his stay at the Old Lodge," he prompted.

She nodded. "I still have them. Would you like to see them?"

Philippe agreed readily. They were one of the primary reasons he'd wanted to speak with her. Jack was several years younger when he drew them. The quality would likely not be as high as the murals in the crypt, but even so, the opportunity to glimpse Diana and Matthew through Jack's eyes was irresistible.

Françoise fetched the drawings from her room in the servants' wing of the chateau. When she returned with the thin folio-sized parcel, they sat on a stone bench in the courtyard to review them. He was pleasantly surprised by the artistry. Jack was unusually skilled in conveying facial expressions. Along with drawings of the household and friends were scenes of Matthew and Diana both at the Old Lodge and in London.

The one Philippe lingered over the longest was a portrait of Matthew. The expression he wore was the same one Philippe had seen in Jack's blood—the look of a father gazing with affection upon his son. In some of the drawings of Diana, she had a mischievous smile as if she and Jack were planning some prank. And perhaps they were. The images revealed their shared love.

"I hope you will permit me to view these again," Philippe asked.

"Of course, _sieur_. Would you like to keep them?"

"No, there's too great a chance Ysabeau would find them and she must remain unaware of the events with Diana and Matthew." By the time she'd meet Diana, Philippe would be dead. That much he knew, although he didn't know the circumstances. Someday, Matthew and Diana would want to see the drawings. And now, thanks to Jack, he also had a way to keep Diana's image fresh in his mind. Was that the reason for the connection he felt to the pup? Their mutual love for a woman who had disappeared from both of their lives? Perhaps Jack's fate would be kinder.

#

That afternoon, Philippe found Matthew and Ysabeau in the solar. Ysabeau was reading while Matthew played the lute. Philippe had brought back with him a new collection of songs by Ysabeau's favorite composer, John Dowland. He sat down to listen.

The angular lines of Matthew's face softened as he sang "Flow My Tears." It reminded Philippe of the way Jack looked when Philippe chanced upon him playing the viol. He was immersed in the music, conveying the emotions in his facial expression as well as through the instrument.

Had Philippe made a mistake to push Matthew to be a warrior? He'd been so certain he was right to take advantage of Matthew's blood rage. Ysabeau's son had a fierceness which was the stuff of legends, and now that talent was being mined once more. Matthew made a masterful assassin for the family. If he met Jack, would he despise the pup's weakness? Consider him inferior? That had been Philippe's initial inclination.

He wished he knew if the Norwich witch had been correct in her prediction. For now, he wouldn't encourage Jack to fight. It would be an experiment. Philippe had always preferred his children to be warriors, but with Hubbard as a sire, Jack hadn't learned any of the necessary skills and likely never would. Philippe chuckled to himself. Hubbard was as obstinate as he was. This would be an interesting duel. The pup was a de Clermont, even if Hubbard refused to acknowledge it and Philippe was unable to. Jack wouldn't be abandoned.

Matthew set aside his lute. "Thank you, Philippe, for bringing me Dowland's latest songs. They likely won't be available in France for many months."

Ysabeau smiled. "I'm the one who is the real beneficiary. Dowland lives in Denmark where the king rewards him lavishly. Why doesn't he publish his works in Denmark?"

Matthew shrugged. "Nostalgia perhaps. Dowland's from England and may wish to return. When he didn't receive an appointment to Elizabeth's court, some speculated it was because he'd converted to Catholicism. He could be waiting to see how tolerant the new king will be before making a move." He turned to Philippe. "What's your assessment of James?"

"The king allows himself to be guided by Howard, and that man's a menace. I've had more luck with Cecil. Our own king's tolerance makes a worthy model and if I can convince Cecil greater religious freedom will make England more secure he may be amenable to making an effort."

"I used to enjoy debating with Cecil's father," Matthew said, a wistful tone to his voice.

"I've developed a good working relationship with his son. He's a welcome voice for moderation even if he does work by whispers and innuendos. The man has a keen grasp of finance. Cecil recognizes the wasteful costliness of war and has provided valuable support for the treaty with Spain." Philippe turned to Ysabeau. "You would like him. His family supports numerous artists and musicians."

"It seems odd that you're the one providing news from England," Matthew remarked. "Now I'm the one out of the loop."

Philippe could sympathize with his feelings. Under Elizabeth, Philippe had only made a few clandestine trips. The English queen feared he would incite Catholics. Matthew had been Philippe's agent, assuming the Roydon identity, working his way into Walsingham's good graces till he'd become a spy for the queen and indirectly for Philippe.

"You can achieve much more in the Netherlands and France than you would in England," Philippe noted. "Matthew Roydon is on Howard's list. Your ties to Raleigh and Northumberland are well known to him."

Matthew's jaw tightened, the angular lines in his face reappearing. "Walter and Hal are Knights of Lazarus and yet I am unable to come to their aid. It's an intolerable situation."

"You're not the only one who would like to help them," Ysabeau commented in the calm, reassuring voice she used when her son showed the slightest hint of losing control. "Plus, both men are highly regarded, no matter what calumnies that obnoxious bully Howard may utter against them. Freyja told me he had the gall of accusing the playwright Ben Jonson of popery and treason, all because he wrote a play about Tiberius. And the man calls himself a patron of the arts!"

"Fortunately, wiser heads prevailed and Jonson was released," Philippe said. "As for Walter and Hal, their situations continue to improve. With a little judicious nudging on my part, Cecil secured an agreement whereby Walter's wife has visitation privileges. Now that Hal's on the Privy Council, it won't be easy for Howard to spread slander about him."

Philippe took a seat next to Matthew. "When I was in Paris, Sully and I discussed a new opportunity for you. The king aspires to set up an East India Company based on the models of England and the Netherlands. Your experience with Raleigh will be invaluable in the effort." As Philippe supplied details of the king's hope to expand trade in Asia, Matthew became more engaged. Henri was ushering in a new era for France. The future for their homeland looked much more promising than for England, which was smoldering with conspiracies and rumor-mongering.

"Freyja will enjoy having you in Paris," Ysabeau said. "She's encouraging me to visit as well. The commedia dell'arte is as popular there as in Venice."

"It's too scandalous for England," Philippe said, "although James's queen would no doubt love the plays. She's wildly enthusiastic about masques . . . and the viola da gamba." He turned to Matthew. "Have you ever considered taking it up?"

Ysabeau cast a sharp look at Philippe, but she knew better than to question him.

Matthew shrugged. "I see no reason to learn another instrument. The viol may be popular at court, but the lute is still king. "

"The throne is a fickle mistress, casting off her occupant on a whim," Philippe commented mildly. "We all must adapt."

* * *

_Notes: Walter Raleigh remains imprisoned in the Tower until 1616, but his wife is granted visitation privileges. At some point in 1604, Lady Bess becomes pregnant with Walter's son Carew who is born on February 25, 1605. Philippe's hopes for the king in France come to an abrupt end when Henry IV is assassinated in 1610. In England, his attempts to achieve greater tolerance also meet with an unexpected obstacle when the Gunpowder Plot explodes on the scene. That will be the subject of my next story, Powder Keg._

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